The Experimental Spy
by pingnova
Summary: The -Experimental- Spy: The legacy of the Rider family has caught up with Alex at an early age. Provided he doesn't die on his first -forced- mission, he'll never be the same again.


**The (Experimental) Spy**

**By WarriorLoverInc**

**Chapter One: Recruitment… the Hard Way**

There comes a time in everyone's life when they find themselves at the proverbial crossroads where Fate and Lady Luck avidly await hand in hand, lusting for the exploitation of your auspicious decision. Alan Blunt thought he had been there, done that.

He was wrong.

Ian Rider had been killed. The man was almost a disgrace to the Rider name; he had never taken his job seriously enough, fancied himself a James Bond. But he had admittedly been good at what he did. None of this, however, overshadowed the fact that he was inexorably and irreversibly dead.

The situation had seemed hopeless: the element of surprise had been lost the moment Sayle had ordered the murder of Ian, the computer millionare was expecting more to come, and they hadn't the correct agents for the job. Who should he send in? Should he send in anyone at all? His department of Military Intelligence was in the dark when it came to Sayle's scheme. Ian had been en route to rendezvous with critical information, something about a computer virus.

And now Blunt faced his crossroads, the very ones that he had been so certain he had visited and deserted before.

Blunt had thought the Riders to have died out with Ian that fateful day. But no, after reviewing a few records, it turned out his ill-fated brother, John Rider, had in fact fathered a son whom Ian had taken under his wing after the "tragic" demise of its parents.

Alex Rider was fourteen. He lived near London, in Chelsea, with his now legal guardian, Jack Starbright, an American with a conveniently half-expired visa.

The way Blunt saw it, he had two options:

Use Alex Rider.

Don't use Alex Rider.

Further investigation had shown the boy to be competent in a few forms of Martial Arts with the experience of a seasoned daredevil. He was fluent in several languages and had excellent school and sports records.

At the late agent's funeral, he first met the boy. Alex was of the fair haired kind, with warm chocolate brown eyes and not a single trace of grief painted on his boyish features. What Blunt's calculative brain admired the most was his seeming lack of emotion and apparent youth. Two highly prized values in potential agents.

His mind was already made the moment he signaled his chauffer to "accidentally" reveal his loaded handgun. It was with a sense of devious delight that he registered the shock and curiosity on young Alex's face. It came as no surprise when he was alerted of the boy's presence in the Royal and General Bank's building soon after.

Alex Rider's fate was sealed.

…

With a sudden explosion of energy, Alex launched himself off the horizontal flagpole and caught the ledge of the office's window with an anguished hand. Excitement bubbled through his system alongside frantic adrenaline energy as he hauled himself onto it and strained to open the window inch by inch.

He would finally find the truth behind the wall of lies his uncle had constructed! Every bruise, ache, and scrape he had received in his search for clarity would be healed with the knowledge he knew he would gain.

Jumping through the now gaping window, he landed expertly on the grey, generic carpeting of a seemingly innocuous office. But Alex knew better now, under the surface was something far more malicious, far more dark than the rest of the world witnessed of this imposter bank, and he was going to find its core truth if it was the last thing he did.

Funny he should think that.

Having left any uncertainties behind in that room they'd first led him to, Alex marched right up to the neat, pristine oak desk dominating the space, gripped the handle of the bottom right filing drawer, and tugged.

It didn't budge.

Alex frowned and tried again, with more force than the first time. All this did was confirm that the tracks were not in need of repair, the drawer was locked. Desperate to achieve _something_ after all his struggles, he pulled on every handle of every drawer. The monotonous industrial lighting of the office space only deepened the frown lines on Alex's face, creating the look of one duly unpleased and frustrated.

He halted his endeavors for a moment to calm himself. Alex took two deep lungful's of the type thin, constricted atmosphere one found in office buildings that were never aired out. Lemon furniture polish, heavily trod carpet, and a strange underlying scent of peppermint instantly assaulted his senses.

Upon opening his eyes, Alex's sharp gaze immediately locked on a tiny bowl of paperclips set in the most left-hand corner of the desk. He couldn't help the grin that stole his lips. His uncle was good for something.

Quickly straightening one into an ideal lock-pick, Alex crouched low to the ground, eye to eye with the bottom drawer's lock, and with a sense of triumph wriggled the pick around until the tumblers gave and the drawer popped open.

Tremors of success wracked his hands as he clumsily snatched papers out of the drawer. He was at the height of his adrenalin! The height of his success! With the papers out of the drawer, he began to read one at random.

…_and in an emergency situation, antifreeze makes an effectively potent poison. When mixed with food and drink, however, it tends to be highly detectable, and in such a use it is advised that it be delivered via injection to the coronary artery. Ammonia and bleach also make for…_

Alex ceased digesting the words after this point. What was his uncle doing with a file on homemade poisons? What was he doing with people who could take him away and lock him up in broad daylight? What was he doing with men in possession of lethal weapons?

An explosive _bang!_ and the appearance of two men in the office's doorframe sent Alex's heartbeat into a startled frenzy. Caught red-handed in the action of having departed from the space they had specifically ordered him to adjourn and then found ruffling through his uncle's belongings, Alex knew he was in a dangerous dilemma. He didn't know what these people would do in response to disobedience, and by the looks of the gun in one of the men's hands it wasn't going to be a time-out.

What surprised him most, however, was the man in the forefront of the two-person procession. It was Alan Blunt, the director of his uncle's "bank," the man he'd first met at Ian's funeral not but hours ago.

"Good job," he addressed the shell-shocked boy, taking in the papers and flight-or-fight stance in a single unconcerned glance.

The last thing Alex remembered was the shout of a gun and a single, bitter thought.

_Shit._

**. . . .**

**Authors Note: **I actually do want to finish this one. It would be an entire rewrite of _Stormbreaker_ with a sci-fi, sadistic twist. And more guns, because I like them.

Geeze, I _do_ sound like a sadist.

Anyway, **I AM LOOKING FOR A BETA!** Someone to analyze later chapters and oneshots of Alex Rider related content and give me constructive critique, help me develop plot, and maybe keep me on track too. ^^'

Apply by sending me a PM, I'd greatly appreciate the person who can really help me.


End file.
